


Cake and Comfort

by AdelaFromJaneEyre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 13:03:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelaFromJaneEyre/pseuds/AdelaFromJaneEyre
Summary: The first Mystrade I ever wrote...so far only been shared with Egmon73





	Cake and Comfort

“How late you gonna be?”

Mycroft glanced over his shoulder to see Greg standing the doorway of his office. His button up was clutched in one hand and his white t-shirt was untucked over his jeans. His silver hair stuck up in odd places—Mycroft guessed he’d fallen asleep on the couch again.

“Late,” he replied with an apologetic sigh. “I’m sorry, love, I’ll be up as soon as I can.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry,” Greg said, waving it off. “It’s alright. It’s your job, innit?” He shrugged and made a feeble attempt at a smile. “Someone’s gotta run the world.”

Mycroft smiled sadly back. “Yes. Unfortunately, someone does.” It was strange, he thought to himself. He used to love running the world, but now it just meant time away from his Gregory. Greg waved and headed upstairs while Mycroft turned back to his work.

Greg _had_ fallen asleep on the couch again. Every night he told himself that he wouldn’t, that he’d stay up watching the late shows until Mycroft’s work was over and then they could head up together, but falling asleep in front of James Corden or Jonathan Ross seemed to be as much a part of their lives as Mycroft’s umbrella or Greg’s badge.

Once upstairs, he shed his work clothes and changed into sweatpants and an old t-shirt, which had been crumpled in a heap on his unmade side of the bed. Mycroft’s side was neatly made up (or as neatly as it could be without being symmetrical), with his monogramed silk pajamas folded neatly on top. Greg smiled as he passed the bed on his way to the bathroom. _Passive-aggressive bastard_ , he thought affectionately. _Won’t even bother to make the whole bed._ He brushed his teeth quickly, rubbing his tired eyes. The day had been grueling, and he couldn’t wait to sink into sleep. But there was one more thing he wanted to do first.

Fighting the ache of the day’s exhaustion, he flicked off the bathroom lights as he headed downstairs. He wandered into the kitchen and set a kettle of water on the stove to boil. Meanwhile, he turned the oven on low, found the cinnamon cake leftover from breakfast, and placed it in the oven to warm up a bit. When the water was ready, he poured it over the teabag in Mycroft’s favorite cup. He let it steep for exactly four minutes and fifteen seconds, removed the teabag, and stirred in one teaspoon of sugar—exactly how Mycroft liked it. He pulled the warm cake from the oven and set a slice on a plate.

Mycroft was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t hear Greg enter the room again. He started when Greg set the tea and cake to the left of his laptop.

“Did I just startle the great Mycroft Holmes?” Greg asked, a smile in his voice. He placed his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders, moving his thumbs in small circles, trying to release some of the tension there. Mycroft relaxed under his love’s touch.

“Thank you,” he whispered, as Greg kissed the top of his head. He longed to follow Greg upstairs and slide into bed and fall asleep in the detective’s strong embrace. Greg’s arms were the only place he felt safe, and even that was a miracle, knowing as much as he did about the world.

“Only give it another hour, alright?” Greg requested. “Your health isn’t worth whatever it is you’re working on.”

Mycroft sighed. “Gregory, I—“

“Promise me.”

Mycroft turned and smiled when he saw the concern in Greg’s eyes. “Alright, I promise,” he whispered. Greg bent down and kissed him—sleepily, gently. “Goodnight, darling,” Mycroft whispered.

“Goodnight, mon amour,” Greg replied. Mycroft smiled at the French nickname while Greg placed another quick peck on his cheek before turning and heading back upstairs to bed.

* * *

 

“It’s been two hours,” Greg whispered sleepily when Mycroft finally settled into bed with him. He rolled onto his side and scooted closer, wrapping an arm around the tired man next to him.

“How could you possibly know that?” Mycroft asked softly, relaxing into Greg’s sleepy warmth. He rolled onto his side, too, and pressed his forehead to Gregory’s.

“I know because I’ve been waitin’ for you,” Greg mumbled. He ran his fingers through Mycroft’s hair. “Baby, you promised. You promised to be up in an hour.”

“I know,” Mycroft answered. “I’m sorry, but—“

“No buts. I’m worried about you.” Greg’s fingers stopped moving as he opened his eyes and gazed at Mycroft. “You’re not sleeping near enough, and when you do sleep, you’re movin’ so much it can’t possibly be any good.”

“Gregory, I assure you, I am fine,” Mycroft whispered, placing a kiss on Greg’s forehead.

“Yeah, alright. I’m still gonna have John take a look at you.” His eyes closed and his fingers started moving through Mycroft’s soft hair again. The soothing motion comforted Mycroft and he relished in the warmth of the cozy space. His concerns drifted away, one by one, until his mind was empty and sinking into sleep.

“I love you, Gregory,” he whispered.

“Love you, too.”

Mycroft smiled and snuggled a little closer and in minutes, they were fast asleep.


End file.
